By Jane Han
Earlier today, I stuffed myself with a big fat peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The kind where both the peanut butter and jelly ooze out from all sides in the most perfect way imaginable.
Writing these words is making me crave yet another one. But I can't.
Some of you might remember from a column I wrote a little over two years ago ― my oldest daughter Ellen is severely allergic to peanuts.
That peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had today was the first one I had in a little over two years. My God.
I couldn't resist the temptation. I finally caved and took out my secret, hidden stash of peanut butter, which has long been forbidden in my house since the day we discovered Ellen's allergy.
All three girls were peacefully napping in their room and were likely to sleep for a good two hours. I hadn't eaten anything all morning and was too exhausted to make anything that involves more than one utensil. And I was craving something rich, nutty, savory and sweet.
All of these things were pointing to one obvious direction ― PB&J sandwich.
It's kind of funny and silly to admit, but I think I was nervous when I was putting together that sandwich. It's just been so long. Too long.
I know some people don't care much for PB&J, but not me. I love that stuff. I grew up eating them, ate them as an adult and even when I was pregnant with the twins girls.
Latest research shows that babies who are exposed to peanuts in the womb are less likely to develop a peanut allergy (PA), so I still have no clue why on earth Ellen's body, according to lab results, is likely to suffer a life-threatening anaphylaxis reaction from peanuts.
Two years ago, when Ellen was less than a year old, I didn't know what kind of changes we were bound to experience.
But now that my girl is three, attending preschool, going to Sunday school and getting invited to parties, now I know that the struggle is real.
Before the allergy, I rarely read the list of ingredients on any food products I bought. Now I do, religiously. I need to check, double check and sometimes triple check that there are no peanuts or there is no vague warning like "may contain peanuts" or "processed in a facility that also processes peanuts."
Talk about paranoia. Become an allergy mom and paranoia becomes a part of life.
A couple months ago, I went to pick up Ellen and Ann from Sunday school. The moment my eyes spotted them in a crowd of kids, I almost had a panic attack to see Ann handing over a piece of Nutter Butter, a peanut butter loaded biscuit, to Ellen. I dashed to Ellen and knocked out the biscuit, which was making its way to her mouth, out of her hand in about two seconds flat.
I informed Ellen's teacher that she is peanut allergic so peanut snacks aren't allowed in her class, but I did not mention anything to Ann's teacher. So Ann got a bag of Nutter Butter as her class snack, which I should have expected, and made its way into Ellen's hands.
That incident alone was more than enough to put me on edge and become one of those annoying allergy moms.
I try to be subtle and careful with other people as much as possible, but sometimes I just have to outright ask if the cookie or candy they're about to give my child has any possibility of having peanuts in it.
I can't just walk into a bakery and let Ellen pick out a bread she wants. Bakeries are a big no-no for allergy moms. Heard of cross-contamination?
Even when a guest brings over a cake or pie as a gift, I can't just slice a piece and serve it to my daughter. I have to be that rude host who goes down the list of ingredients on the box, if there is one, or dangerously use my instinctive peanut radar to gauge whether the product looks safe or not.
Yes, sometimes all of this drives me nuts. But what can I do? Nothing.
I just have to keep carrying around an EpiPen, the life-saving allergy shot, continue ruining parties and snack times for other kids, and apologize for the extra fuss we're causing to other children and parents.
I know non-allergy parents must think PA kids are a pain in the butt. I don't blame them.
There is a 25 percent chance she may outgrow it so I'm keeping my hopes up that she'll make it into that narrow group.
Till then, I'll be looking forward to my next secret PB&J binge.
 |
Writing these words is making me crave yet another one. But I can't.
Some of you might remember from a column I wrote a little over two years ago ― my oldest daughter Ellen is severely allergic to peanuts.
That peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had today was the first one I had in a little over two years. My God.
I couldn't resist the temptation. I finally caved and took out my secret, hidden stash of peanut butter, which has long been forbidden in my house since the day we discovered Ellen's allergy.
All three girls were peacefully napping in their room and were likely to sleep for a good two hours. I hadn't eaten anything all morning and was too exhausted to make anything that involves more than one utensil. And I was craving something rich, nutty, savory and sweet.
All of these things were pointing to one obvious direction ― PB&J sandwich.
It's kind of funny and silly to admit, but I think I was nervous when I was putting together that sandwich. It's just been so long. Too long.
I know some people don't care much for PB&J, but not me. I love that stuff. I grew up eating them, ate them as an adult and even when I was pregnant with the twins girls.
Latest research shows that babies who are exposed to peanuts in the womb are less likely to develop a peanut allergy (PA), so I still have no clue why on earth Ellen's body, according to lab results, is likely to suffer a life-threatening anaphylaxis reaction from peanuts.
Two years ago, when Ellen was less than a year old, I didn't know what kind of changes we were bound to experience.
But now that my girl is three, attending preschool, going to Sunday school and getting invited to parties, now I know that the struggle is real.
Before the allergy, I rarely read the list of ingredients on any food products I bought. Now I do, religiously. I need to check, double check and sometimes triple check that there are no peanuts or there is no vague warning like "may contain peanuts" or "processed in a facility that also processes peanuts."
Talk about paranoia. Become an allergy mom and paranoia becomes a part of life.
A couple months ago, I went to pick up Ellen and Ann from Sunday school. The moment my eyes spotted them in a crowd of kids, I almost had a panic attack to see Ann handing over a piece of Nutter Butter, a peanut butter loaded biscuit, to Ellen. I dashed to Ellen and knocked out the biscuit, which was making its way to her mouth, out of her hand in about two seconds flat.
I informed Ellen's teacher that she is peanut allergic so peanut snacks aren't allowed in her class, but I did not mention anything to Ann's teacher. So Ann got a bag of Nutter Butter as her class snack, which I should have expected, and made its way into Ellen's hands.
That incident alone was more than enough to put me on edge and become one of those annoying allergy moms.
I try to be subtle and careful with other people as much as possible, but sometimes I just have to outright ask if the cookie or candy they're about to give my child has any possibility of having peanuts in it.
I can't just walk into a bakery and let Ellen pick out a bread she wants. Bakeries are a big no-no for allergy moms. Heard of cross-contamination?
Even when a guest brings over a cake or pie as a gift, I can't just slice a piece and serve it to my daughter. I have to be that rude host who goes down the list of ingredients on the box, if there is one, or dangerously use my instinctive peanut radar to gauge whether the product looks safe or not.
Yes, sometimes all of this drives me nuts. But what can I do? Nothing.
I just have to keep carrying around an EpiPen, the life-saving allergy shot, continue ruining parties and snack times for other kids, and apologize for the extra fuss we're causing to other children and parents.
I know non-allergy parents must think PA kids are a pain in the butt. I don't blame them.
There is a 25 percent chance she may outgrow it so I'm keeping my hopes up that she'll make it into that narrow group.
Till then, I'll be looking forward to my next secret PB&J binge.
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